Breathe Deep (Sleeping At Last)

For a variety of reasons, it may have been one of my best days since Eric died (11 weeks ago today).

First of all, I have the privilege of hanging out with my Sweet Babboo because Sarah is away on a work trip;  I spent last night, I drove him to school this morning, I'll head back over there as soon as I hit Send here (he and Chico are kicking the soccer ball around), Lather. Rinse. Repeat. (and I even get to set out Buddy the Elf, a tradition I am thrilled was not around when my kids were little... 😂)

I also spent time with Cynthia this a.m.; when I told her homeopathic self that I hadn't been able to take deep breaths in the last almost-three-months, she asked me for two hours of my time.  Oh my.  Whew.  Amazing.  Here's the thank-you note I just sent:

Oh, Cynthia... there are no words eloquent enough to thank you for the Lavender/Rose tea... the CoExist bag filled with Rescue Remedy, ignatia amara pellets, Good Grief drops... the Magic Swinging Bed hypnosis portal... and our deep conversation... all adding up to the generous gift of your time, energy, and love this morning.

In the span of two hours, you were so instrumental in eliciting from me a cleansing cry (more than one, actually), deep breaths (finally!), and (so much more) peace of mind.  You are such a good, true, loving (and loved in return) friend.

Mmmmm.  I still smell like lavender... 💜

And... I received a package from my friend Michele's daughter Brynna of gorgeous handmade bamboo windchimes, with decorative as well as meaningful owl feathers (if you know, you know, right?), accompanied by a heartfelt note.  Can't wait until my very tall husband comes home, so he can hang them on my balcony... 🦉

And... I had a phone conversation with my friend Pam, who has been in the hospital for over two months (diagnosed with Guillain-Barre Syndrome), with more rehab and therapy ahead.  From a terrifying diagnosis... to an induced coma... to trach surgery... to hearing her actual voice, I wept like a f*cking baby.  Baby Steps, with a renewed vow of self-care, move her forward every day.   

I am unbelievably grateful for the love and support sent my way every minute of every day, and I promise to pay it forward.  Did I say Grateful?... 💗

SONG:  Breathe Deep by Sleeping At Last

BOOK:  Catching Your Breath in Grief ...and grace will lead you home by Thomas Attig, William Rathje (Photographer)

POEM(S):  Sorting Things Out by Edward Hujsak

Gather all your memories

inside your circled arms

and clasped hands.

Be still and breathe deeply.

Gaze down and place

them all in order.

Let times of joy

and exhilaration

rise to the top.

Make room

for days of grief

and make a special place

for when you reached out

and helped another.

Let darker memories

sink to the bottom,

hidden in haze.

An expiation,

each soul owes to itself.

Winter Solstice by Jody Aliesan

Thinking only makes the heart sore. — I Ching

when you startle awake in the dark morning

heart pounding breathing fast

sitting bolt upright staring into

dark whirlpool black hole

feeling its suction

get out of bed

knock at the door of your nearest friend

ask to lie down beside ask to be held

listen while whispered words

turn the hole into deep night sky

stars close together

winter moon rising over white fields

nearby wren rustling dry leaves

distant owl echoing

two people walking up the road laughing

let your soul laugh

let your heart sigh out

that long held breath so hollow in your stomach

so swollen in your throat

already light is returning pairs of wings

lift softly off your eyelids one by one

each feathered edge clearer between you

and the pearl veil of day

you have nothing to do but live

QUOTE(S):  “Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.” ~ Unknown

“You need not wade through the mists and bogs to reach the moon.

You need not climb a ladder of cobweb.

You need not ride the stallions that wicker in the sea’s pounding surf.

Draw back the curtain and open the window.

Breathe the bracing air and listen:

The whinny of an owl, the click of the bat,

The grunt of a buck and the distant roar of the train.

The full moon will spill a milky road before you.

That is all the pathway you will need.”

~ Beth Weaver-Kreider

"Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without." ~ Gautama Buddha

Sweet Spot (Antje Duvekot)

Good but very low-key week... exactly what I needed after the breakneck pace of the last few.  Zoom with Nancy and Judi, a library pick-up, volunteering in the community garden this morning.  Much weeding, and joyful satisfaction!  We harvested apple bananas (yes, that's a real thing!) and papayas for the food bank, saw many peacock butterflies (thanks to Claire for the ID), and even spotted, amidst the chicken wire (to keep out the iguanas), a chrysalis... 😃

On my way out, I stopped into the farmers' market in front, and bought beefsteak tomatoes, two different kinds of sweet potatoes, Gala apples, locally-made vegan coconut yogurt, as well as baba ganoush.  The first thing I did when I got home was make a tomato sandwich (to quote songwriter Guy Clark:  "only two things money can't buy, that's true love and homegrown tomatoes"... ❤ )  Yum!

I've also tried to catch up on my reading, because putting together the TCC newsletter was taking up a lot of my discretionary time; it was a fun challenge, but I do get grumpy when I don't consume words on a regular basis.  Reinstating a feature I haven't used in a while:

NR:  House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune

It is indeed Feel Good Friday (cutting it close again!) and, as is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten/enlighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~ Baking That’s Simple, but Always Satisfying:  In her new monthly column, Genevieve Ko shares easy, streamlined recipes, like handmade crisps and cookies, so you can feed your loved ones (and yourself) effortlessly.

~ Books Don't Cost A Thing: A #GoodbyeFines Playlist:  It's one fine day at the Library! On October 5, The New York Public Library announced that we're closing the book on late fines. That's right—NYPL no longer charges late fines on overdue material. 

~ Urban Food Forest at Browns Mill:  This site is Atlanta's first Community Urban Food Forest, as well as a new model for a City of Atlanta park. The food forest will produce a wide variety of fresh, flavorful, and healthy nuts, fruits,  vegetables, herbs,  and mushrooms, which will become available for public consumption.  Located in an area identified as a food desert, the site was a working farm as recently as 2000. Neighbors still talk about the land’s former owners, Ruby and Willie Morgan, who left excess produce from their farm on fence posts for neighbors to claim and enjoy. 

~ Designed to remind us of stories worth sharing:  At Anecdote, we’re making fragrance a conversation piece. Inspired by personal recollections and cultural trends, each candle is an everyday luxury designed to remind us of stories worth sharing.

~ William Steig’s Books Explored the Reality That Adults Don’t Want Children to Know About:  Writers for young children have a nearly impossible task: to amuse both the kid being read to and the adult doing the reading. Doing one or the other is hard enough, and only a select handful of geniuses can manage both. William Steig is one. 

SONG:  Sweet Spot by Antje Duvekot

BOOK:  Yes! I AM by Opal Murray (my dear friend Opal from the UUCFL asked me to review her book; I agreed, and was beyond relieved that it was a lovely read.  Don't be surprised if it ends up in your mailbox in the next few months... 💗 )

POEM:  Field Guide by Tony Hoagland

Once, in the cool blue middle of a lake,

up to my neck in that most precious element of all,

I found a pale-gray, curled-upwards pigeon feather

floating on the tension of the water

at the very instant when a dragonfly,

like a blue-green iridescent bobby pin,

hovered over it, then lit, and rested.

That’s all.

I mention this in the same way

that I fold the corner of a page

in certain library books,

so that the next reader will know

where to look for the good parts.

QUOTE:  "Be amazed. Take a step back and look at your life with gratitude every now and then. Be amazed. Squeeze every last ounce of goodness out of what is around you. Savor it. Soak it up. Luxuriate in it. Be amazed. When you’re burned out, bone weary, and bedraggled, use amazement to fill yourself back up. Seek out those situations, people, and activities that remind you of what it means and how it feels to be amazed." ~ Leslie Ralph

Black & Blue (Danny Schmidt)

"If you are not outraged, you are not paying attention." (can't seem to find the original attribution.)


Pompano Beach Protests 'Keep This Energy Going':  More than a month since protests began following the death of George Floyd while a Minneapolis police officer kneeled on his neck, demonstrations continued all over South Florida.

Three Words. 70 Cases. The Tragic History of ‘I Can’t Breathe.’:  The deaths of Eric Garner in New York and George Floyd in Minnesota created national outrage over the use of deadly police restraints. There were many others you didn’t hear about.

Danny Schmidt does it again.  No surprise there... ❤

This time spent in quarantine has lent itself to recording and releasing songs in near realtime, as I'm writing them. I don't know if that has inspired me to write songs that are of a more timely and topical nature, or if these extraordinary times have inspired me to write about the here and now. But whichever, it is topical tunes that seem to be bubbling out. And I've got a new one for you entitled, Black & Blue.

It's a song that deals with the state of race in this country, the role of force in policing, and the spiritual cost of brutality. These issues have obviously been top of mind for a lot of us lately. The tensions underlying the relationship between law enforcement and the black community are deep and complex, and have a long dark history Unraveling ourselves from that history will take a long time. This song focuses on the will to do the work.

SONG:  Black & Blue by Danny Schmidt [from Danny:  Usually, when I make a lyric video, it's a bit of an after-thought. This time is different. I set the song to a backdrop of images from the protests and the public outcry, and I actually think the juxtaposition makes the experience of the song itself a stronger one. The photos themselves are so provocative and powerful, they actually made me quite emotional as I was cutting them together.]

BOOK:  We Can't Breathe: On Black Lives, White Lies, and the Art of Survival by Jabari Asim

POEM:  I Can’t Breathe by Pamela Sneed

I suppose I should place them under separate files
Both died from different circumstances kind of, one from HIV AIDS and possibly not having
taken his medicines
the other from COVID-19 coupled with
complications from an underlying HIV status
In each case their deaths may have been preventable if one had taken his meds and the
hospital thought to treat the other
instead of sending him home saying, He wasn’t sick enough
he died a few days later
They were both mountains of men
dark black beautiful gay men
both more than six feet tall fierce and way ahead of their time
One’s drag persona was Wonder Woman and the other started a black fashion magazine
He also liked poetry
They both knew each other from the same club scene we all grew up in
When I was working the door at a club one frequented
He would always say to me haven’t they figured out you’re a star yet
And years ago bartending with the other when I complained about certain people and
treatment he said sounds like it’s time for you to clean house
Both I know were proud of me the poet star stayed true to my roots
I guess what stands out to me is that they both were
gay black mountains of men
Cut down
Felled too early
And it makes me think the biggest and blackest are almost always more vulnerable
My white friend speculates why the doctors sent one home
If he had enough antibodies
Did they not know his HIV status
She approaches it rationally
removed from race as if there were any rationale for sending him home
Still she credits the doctors for thinking it through
But I speculate they saw a big black man before them
Maybe they couldn’t imagine him weak
Maybe because of his size color class they imagined him strong
said he’s okay
Which happened to me so many times
Once when I’d been hospitalized at the same time as a white girl
she had pig-tails
we had the same thing but I saw how tenderly they treated her
Or knowing so many times in the medical system I would never have been treated so terribly if I
had had a man with me
Or if I were white and entitled enough to sue
Both deaths could have been prevented both were almost first to fall in this season of death
But it reminds me of what I said after Eric Garner a large black man was strangled to death over
some cigarettes
Six cops took him down
His famous lines were I can’t breathe
so if we are always the threat
To whom or where do we turn for protection?

QUOTE:  "The horrific cases in Ferguson, in Staten Island with the death of Eric Garner, and all across the country serve as stark reminders that we must have a say in who polices us, and how that policing is done. We must, we must, let our voices be heard on Election Day." ~ Al Sharpton

I'm On Your Side (Michael Franti & Spearhead)

[Finally!  June 3, 2020 update:  Attorney General Keith Ellison upgrade charges against officer who knelt on George Floyd's neck; charged other 3 involved:  The charges come just days after Gov. Tim Walz asked Ellison to take over the prosecution.]

8 Minutes and 46 Seconds: How George Floyd Was Killed in Police Custody:
The Times has reconstructed the death of George Floyd on May 25. Security footage, witness videos and official documents show how a series of actions by officers turned fatal.


My sister Mari initiated a thoughtful conversation, via text, with me and my daughter Sarah a few days ago, which allowed me to state my feelings on the George Floyd situation in particular, and racism in general.  I disagree with the vandalism, arson, and looting but, to quote Leonard (below), "Enough!".  If this is what it takes to be heard, I understand.  It is crazy that we live in a world in which Jogging While Black and Driving While Black and even Breathing While Black are reasons for murder, by police or anyone else. I can't fathom why people are more outraged by the destruction of property than they are by the senseless killings of People of Color, for decades... centuries.

Why are blacks’ anguished cries of “Enough!” never enough to stop the brutality? | Opinion by Leonard Pitts, Jr.

My new favorite word, as used in Leonard's column:
quiescent [ kwee-es-uhnt, kwahy- ]
adjective
being at rest; quiet; still; inactive or motionless:
a quiescent mind.


It is a matter of being aware of the injustice in the world, and how we, from our entitled place, can help but never truly empathize.  I felt helpless as well as enraged watching that video.  thankyoujesus for cell phones recording the truth.  At this point the officers have been charged, and we will wait to see if they are convicted (as many are not).


And, from Glennon Doyle's recently-published book Untamed, p. 206-210 (thanks to my daughter Sarah for reminding me of these passages):

"  “No, listen—this feels to me like we’ve hit rock bottom! Maybe that means we’re finally ready for the steps. Maybe we’ll admit that our country has become unmanageable. Maybe we’ll take a moral inventory and face our open family secret: that this nation—founded upon ‘liberty and justice for all’—was built while murdering, enslaving, raping, and subjugating millions. Maybe we’ll admit that liberty and justice for all has always meant liberty for white straight wealthy men. Then maybe we’ll gather the entire family at the table—the women and the gay and black and brown folks and those in power—so that we can begin the long, hard work of making amends. I’ve seen this process heal people and families. Maybe our nation can heal this way, too.”

   I was adamant and righteous. But I’d forgotten that sick systems are made up of sick people. People like me. In order to get healthy, everybody has to stay in the room and turn themselves inside out. No family recovers until each member recovers. 

       Soon after that conversation with my friend, I sat on my family room couch and patted a spot to my left and one to my right. I said to my daughters, “Come here, girls.” They sat down and looked up at me. I told them that while they were asleep, a man who was white had walked into a church and shot and killed nine people who were black.

   Then I told my daughters about a black boy their brother’s age, who was walking home and was chased down and murdered. I told them that the killer said he thought the boy had a gun, but what the boy really had was a bag of Skittles. Amma said, “Why did that man think Trayvon’s candy was a gun?” I said, “I don’t think he really did. I think he just needed an excuse to kill.”

   We sat with all of this for a while. They asked more questions. I did my best. Then I decided that we had talked about villains for long enough. We needed to talk about heroes.

   I went to my office to find a particular book. I pulled it down from the shelf, came back to the couch, and sat between them again. I opened the book, and we read about Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, John Lewis, Fannie Lou Hamer, Diane Nash, and Daisy Bates. We looked at pictures of civil rights marches, and we talked about why people march. “Someone once said that marching is praying with your feet,” I told them.

   Amma pointed to a white woman holding a sign, marching in a sea of black and brown people. Her eyes popped and she said, “Mama, look! Would we have been marching with them? Like her?”

   I fixed my mouth to say, “Of course. Of course we would have, baby.”

   But before I could say it, Tish said, “No, Amma. We wouldn’t have been marching with them back then. I mean, we’re not marching now.”

       I stared at my girls as they looked up at me. I thought of my dad in that therapist’s office all those years ago. It was as if my girls had turned to me and asked, “Mama, how do you imagine we might be inadvertently contributing to our country’s sickness?”

   A week later, I was reading Martin Luther King, Jr.’s, famous essay “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” and I came across this:

       "I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action.”

   This was the first time I had encountered language that defined the kind of person I was in the world. I was a white person who imagined herself to be on the side of civil rights, because I was a good person who strongly believed in equality as the right idea. But the white woman Amma had pointed to in that photograph wasn’t staying home and believing. She was showing up. When I looked at her face, she didn’t look nice at all. She looked radical. Angry. Brave. Afraid. Tired. Passionate. Resolute. Regal. And a little bit scary.

   I imagined myself to be the kind of white person who would have stood with Dr. King because I respect him now. Close to 90 percent of white Americans approve of Dr. King today. Yet while he was alive and demanding change, only about 30 percent approved of him—the same rate of white Americans who approve of Colin Kaepernick today.

       So, if I want to know how I’d have felt about Dr. King back then, I can’t ask myself how I feel about him now; instead I have to ask myself: How do I feel about Kaepernick now? If I want to know how I’d have felt about the Freedom Riders back then, I can’t ask myself how I feel about them now; instead, I have to ask myself: How do I feel about Black Lives Matter now?

   If I want to know how I’d have shown up in the last civil rights era, I have to ask myself: How am I showing up today, in this civil rights era?

   I decided to read every book I could get my hands on about race in America. I filled my social media feeds with writers and activists of color. It became very clear very quickly how strongly my social media feeds shaped my worldview. With a feed filled with white voices, faces that looked like my own, and articles that reflected experiences like mine, it was easy to believe that, for the most part, things were fine. Once I committed myself to beginning each day by reading the perspectives of black and brown people, I learned that everything was, and always has been, quite far from fine. I learned about rampant police brutality, the preschool-to-prison pipeline, the subhuman conditions of immigrant detainment centers, the pillaging of native lands. I began to widen. I was unlearning the whitewashed version of American history I’d been indoctrinated into believing. I was discovering that I was not who I imagined myself to be. I was learning that my country was not what I had been taught it was.

   This experience of learning and unlearning reminded me of getting sober from addiction. When I started to really listen and think more deeply about the experiences of people of color and other marginalized people in our country, I felt like I did when I first quit drinking: increasingly uncomfortable as the truth agitated my comfortable numbness. I felt ashamed as I began to learn all the ways my ignorance and silence had hurt other people. I felt exhausted because there was so much more to unlearn, so many amends to be made, and so much work to do. Just like in my early days of sobriety from booze, in my early days of waking up to white supremacy, I felt shaky, jumpy, and agitated as I slowly surrendered the privilege of not knowing. It was a painful unbecoming.

       Eventually it became time to speak up. I started sharing the voices I was reading, and speaking out against the racism of America’s past and the bigotry and strategic divisiveness of the current administration. Every time I did this, people got pissed off. I felt okay about this because I seemed to be pissing off the right people. "


So, what can WE do to effect positive change?

RevAmy mentioned this in our "lovestreaming" UU church service yesterday: 26 Ways to Be in the Struggle

Now is definitely a time for growth opportunity for those whose hearts are in the right place.  I am a long-time peaceful protester (mostly feminist- and environmentally-related) but, much as I want to get out there, I will not risk my health by taking to the streets.  Because of my decimated social life, I have extra money, and have decided to donate to Together Rising, Glennon's organization. She speaks her truth, which also happens to be mine.  I trust her judgment as to where she allocates the money.


SONG:  I'm On Your Side by Michael Franti and Spearhead

BOOK:  Making All Black Lives Matter: Reimagining Freedom in the Twenty-First Century by Barbara Ransby

POEM:  Choke by Karim Eltawansy

A tattoo of birds
in the cage
of my throat.

I can’t breathe.

The world
is an eye
open to the

sun.

How many poems
do you have
by dreaming

of fire? of water

too late, too little
of breath
on the feathers

a naked cat

is sculpted into a
sphinx.

Tell me: the sculptor
was using his
fingers as

a ruler: his palm

a throne. I hold
all of life in
my throat. I hold

the 7th heaven

on my devil’s whisper. A genie says:
what a genie says:
I’m not available right now

get in the car.

The lamp holds
nothing to the candle
wish of tongue, holds

a shadow in the corner
of my eye: blink
thrice if a baton chops

because someone says, gravity. I’ve heard

a lot of songs about misery, but
never felt a bullet
slash through my body’s

grass limbs. Had I

to describe this membrane
what its body looked
like in breath

in its lover’s casket: I say,

brave, one syllable drops
at the speed of exhale: one
Marlboro tastes like

a carcass: if you ask
me about Africa I’ll
point my thumb down

the chamber, stick my
head in the camera
lens, fall into

black, black, black
everything—birds
included.

QUOTE:  “Breathe. Breathe deep and pure and smooth. Concentrate on it. Breathing is the pace you set your life at. It’s the rhythm of the song of you. It’s how to get back to the centre of things. The centre of yourself. When the world wants to take you in every other direction. It was the first thing you learned to do. The most essential and simple thing you do. To be aware of breath is to remember you are alive.” ~ Matt Haig